The Ghosts of Christmas Past
by dipdipdipmyblueship
Summary: Carla makes a detour on her way back to Weatherfield on Christmas Eve.


_**A/N: Just a one-shot of what I think occurs prior to Carla's return to the cobbles tonight on Christmas Eve. **_

_**Disclaimer: The characters are the sole property of ITV. The story however is mine. :)**_

_**Merry Christmas to you all! **_

* * *

I see her sitting at the table, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast; staring blankly into the cup of coffee before her.

I should just keep walking. Walk straight through to the door just beyond her and back to my normal day to day life.

But even after everything we've been through, I feel a pull towards the broken woman before me. I can't help but feel enormous pity for what she's been through the past year. Even as the sun beats down upon the table and on her lovely tanned skin, I can see the bags under her eyes as she idly plays with the cup before her. Her fingers trembling every so slightly in nervousness? Apprehension? I cannot be sure. But in spite of my earlier desire to simply walk out, I cannot. Maybe it's the maternal instinct in me, but she looks like she needs someone to talk to and I know that it is not in the nature of this particular woman to ask for anyone's help, nor feel the need to talk about what's on her mind. I can't help but feel curious as to why she continues to close herself off from others, from those she loves and those that love her.

I feel for this woman. Despite everything we've been through together, I cannot help but look upon her as a daughter.

I gingerly step forward, listening to the flutter of conversations around me at surrounding tables. Her eyes finally lift and lock onto mine as I come to stand at her table. I can't help the small reassuring smile that tugs at my lips instinctively. I can see the worry in her stunning green eyes, the feeling that she now suddenly feels out of place and awkward, and I know I've seen that same look in those orbs multiple times before. I had never realized, - or maybe it was that I never wanted to accept - that her tough exterior and snappy tongue was just a cover for a frightened young girl who never really felt like she belonged anywhere. I sigh deeply and my heart breaks in my chest for her, feeling a slight nagging of guilt as I come to terms with my own role in kicking her around when she was down.

Without asking I pull out the chair opposite her, and she offers me a crooked smile before lowering her gaze back to the cup between her palms. As I settle in, I see she is mumbling something to herself, as if garnering the courage to speak with me.

We seem to sit like this for a long stretch of time, but I'm not bothered by her sudden shyness. It gives me the time to study her as she sits before me; I realize that in spite the tan she must of acquired on vacation somewhere, her complexion is rather pale, her features somber, and behind the makeup and coverup she has deftly applied, her eyes still hold that slightly red tinge from what I assume has resulted from days of crying.

It is I who breaks the silence that hangs between us, knowing I am doing so for her benefit.

"You're a ways from Weatherfield Carla," I say in soft voice, "and on Christmas Eve? Shouldn't you be with Peter?" I watch as her eyes close slowly and she swallows nervously, her full lips rolling inwards and pressing them upon the other.

After a long moment she finally responds, "I should be in Los Angeles actually, that's where I was this past week. Only just arrived back in Manchester late last night." She exhales deeply before lifting her eyes and meeting mine again, "Peter and I..." She trails off and bites her lower lip; she looks up towards the ceiling as fresh tears begin to fill her eyes, "I ummm, we're finished."

"Why?" I find myself asking as I gingerly reach for her trembling hand.

She instinctively flinches and recoils from my touch, and I furrow my brow sympathetically to her. I don't blame her for it...the poor thing has been tainted and violated by a man who claimed to love her just over a year ago.

"Come on Carla," I press supportively, "you wouldn't have come here if you didn't want to talk. You knew I'd be here." I watch again as she lowers her gaze to the table and mumbles to herself, possibly gearing herself up to open up to me, and I try once more to reach her, "I know you have every reason to hate me Carla," I begin gingerly and she shakes her head in response, "after all I treated you abhorrently, but maybe by us talking now, we can put the past behind us, bury our demons so to speak-"

"There's the thing..." She whispers, her voice cracking with unbridled emotion

"What's the thing?" I ask gently

"The past..." She whispers shakily, "the demons. I-," she exhales and closes her eyes again, "I-I can't move on."

"Tell me," I encourage her again, and after taking a large sip of her coffee she finally begins to talk openly.

She tells me all about the custody battle over Peter's little lad and how she had tried unsuccessfully to garner a peace between him and his wife; how tensions continued to rise exponentially despite them all wanting the best for young Simon. She tells me how Peter fell off the wagon quite spectacularly, taking her down with him and saying some horrid things to her as she trudged out of the flat with her suitcase in tow.

She tells me of her brother Rob's arrival and how his mood towards her shifted like night and day. One minute he'd be laying into her for leaving him and their mother all those years ago, and the next he'd be the loving, sympathetic brother she craved him to be.

She tells me about Peter's failed attempt to leave the country with his son, and how she had changed her mind at the last minute and brought Leanne to the train station. How she witnessed the heartbreaking decision Simon had to make between his two parents and how it shattered Peter when his son chose to stay in Weatherfield with Leanne.

She tells me of how she dropped her whole life and traveled with Peter for the past six months in order to get his head straight so that he could be the father he wanted to be to Simon.

I feel my heart breaking for her as she explains how with every mile they put between themselves and Weatherfield, she finally began to piece back her own life. But that all changed when Peter insisted they go back to Manchester for the holidays.

She tells me how she started drinking upon realizing that he wanted to stay and the horrible things she said to both Simon and Leanne in her drunken state. The tears begin to fall unabashedly down her face as she recounts her heartbreaking decision to head back to L.A. and leave both Peter, and what remains of her family, behind.

"Carla," I whisper, gingerly reaching out and grasping her hand, smiling softly when she doesn't pull it away, "You never really pieced your life back together when you were away darling," I state as gently as possible, "superficially maybe, but you never _truly_ pieced it together, because you never really dealt with-," I pause for a moment, swallowing the bile that rises to my throat before trying again, "-because you never really dealt with what my son did to you."

I watch as she shudders involuntarily and drops her head to shield her emotions but I press on regardless, "that's why you're here isn't it? That's why you came here to see me?"

She nods meekly before speaking, "I came back because I can't keep running away," she whispers shakily, "I always leg it when I'm petrified, and I'm petrified of my flat," she sighs and shakes her head, "I'm petrified of the factory, I'm petrified of me own shadow." Her lower lip quivers and she gently squeezes my hand in reassurance before speaking again, "I see Frank everywhere, Anne," her voice is barely audible but I can see the pain pulsing behind her eyes, "he's in my flat, he's in my factory…" her voice cracks as she chokes on a sob, "he's in my head…"

"It'll take time Carla, before all those memories are simply a thing of the past," I smile encouragingly at her, "but you have to face your fears, and that means delving into the darkest places of your mind and coming to terms with what's happened to you. Only then can you truly start to recover."

"How did you do it?" she asks timidly, her damp eyes boring into mine as if thirsting for knowledge, "how did you come to terms with this?"

"I had no choice but to come to terms with it my dear," I answer truthfully as I glance around knowingly, "I've been alone in a cell for months now, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. It was hard and difficult to accept that my son was capable of the things he did, but I had to face that reality head on." I squeeze her hand gently, "and unlike you, I didn't have all these other factors plaguing me. Carla, you went from the rape, to your attempted suicide," I state as a lump forms in my throat, remembering how she had informed me as we sat in the police station after my confession back in March, that she knew exactly how I felt at wanting to end my life following the whole ordeal; opening up to me about how she tried to top herself following my son's attack.

I swallow hard and press on, "you then had to get back into your business and suffered at my hands, then there was the trial and the exposure of the affair. I'm so ashamed at how my son then continued to torture you at Underworld; the taunting, the teasing…" I trail off as I remember laughing at her expense with Frank and Sally as she neared close to tears on multiple occasions. "and then came Frank's grand schemes and then his murder. And almost immediately afterwards you were locked in a custody battle between your boyfriend and his ex-wife."

I reach across the table and tenderly wipe the tears from her face with my fingers, "when have you had the chance to really come to terms with the rape Carla? Hmm?"

Her eyes bore into mine, her brow furrowing and she bites the inside of her lip as it quivers. She shakes her head softly, "I haven't…"

"No, you haven't." I agree with her firmly. "You say you've come back because you can't run anymore," she nods in agreement, "that's a start. But now comes the hard part; you have to stand your ground. That was your home before Frank came into it. You had a family unit there with your first husband and his family and I bet you that if you really think about it, the good memories outweigh the bad in there." I watch the emotion pass across her face and smile lovingly at her, "go to Peter, Carla. Go to him and if he is willing to help you through this, then let him in. But whether he is willing or he isn't, you need to find the strength within yourself to face your demons. You _are_ a strong woman," I say as I lift my hand and cup her cheek softly, "you just need to believe it yourself."

"I wasn't expecting this you know," she states as I watch her struggling to speak, "I came here to apologize to you Anne," she says shakily, "for all the pain that I've caused to you. I know that I drove Frank to do what he did to me –"

"No!" I state a little louder than I intended, and my eye immediately lands on the guard who shoots me a warning, "No," I repeat a little lower this time, my gaze falling upon the woman across from me again, "no matter what he _thought_ you were doing, no matter what you said to him, he had no right to do what he did to you!"

"Why are you doing this?" she asks me pointedly, her face one of confusion, "why are you being so nice to me? If your son had never met me, you wouldn't be in 'ere right now."

"Probably not," I agree with her, "or maybe he would have done the exact same thing to another woman," my voice lowers and a slight smile tugs at my lips, "and maybe she wouldn't have pleaded my case to the police that night in March, or to the judge at my sentencing in May. And instead of being at this open, miminum-security prison in York, I'd be in a closed, high-security one in Manchester."

"I only did what I knew was right," she whispers dismissively

"As am I." I respond truthfully. We hear the bells chime and I know our conversation is now at an end. I slowly rise to my feet as does she. "You made the right decision in coming back Carla," I say reassuringly, "You wouldn't have found your answers in Los Angeles; no matter how beautiful the sunshine or warm the weather." Before she can answer I draw her into an embrace. I feel her body tense at first, unsure of how to react, but within seconds her arms wrap about me.

I suspect this is the first motherly embrace she's had in a long while…

I stroke her hair lovingly, "Despite what you may think Carla, you were exactly what I wanted in a daughter-in-law: beautiful, feisty, spirited, and able to put us all in our place at the drop of a hat." I gently pull back and catch her tear-filled eyes as they look into mine with some unbridled hope, "but you were too good for my son. I think you are too good for Peter as well. But he loves you Carla; and I know he will move heaven and earth to help you through this…but you have to let him, and you have to find the confidence within yourself to face your fears." She nods meekly and I feel the guard shuffle up behind me. "Good luck my dear; I hope you allow yourself to find happiness soon." With a final smile, I walk around her and head for the door.

"Anne?" I hear her call to me and I turn slowly to look upon her once more.

"Happy Christmas," she says with a smile, "and thank you."

"Happy Christmas Carla." I smile back, before walking through the door and down the hallway to my cell.


End file.
